


Fear of You

by Wind_Ryder



Series: Brother Mine [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Brothers, Child Neglect, Eating Disorders, Gen, mental health
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 19:20:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1196496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wind_Ryder/pseuds/Wind_Ryder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft Holmes knew there was something wrong with his older brother. He could see it in the way that he moved, the way that he smiled, the way that he spoke. To everyone else he was a perfect child: happy, grateful, and kind. But Mycroft knew better, and he would do everything he could to keep his younger brother as far away from him as possible. </p><p>Sometimes though, he fails.</p><p>Warnings: Eating difficulties, possibly seen as beginning of eating disorder mentioned in chapter two. Potential triggers. While not explicitly described as an eating disorder, can be viewed as such.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Fear of You is the first of a very long series of stories following the Holmes brothers as they grow older. Mostly told from Mycroft's perspective, these vignettes are focussed on revealing certain aspects of their characters. They might be in chronological order, or they might not be. 
> 
> This is not beta-read or brit-picked. If there are any obvious errors please feel free to let me know and I'll be happy to fix them. 
> 
> If you would like to beta read or brit-pick, please let me know and I'll contact you. 
> 
> Thanks!

There were few people in the world that Mycroft hated with every fiber of his being, but his older brother was at the top of that list. Sherrinford Holmes had enjoyed being an only child, and detested the thought of one sibling, let alone two. 

Mycroft knew that Sherrinford disliked him, but he loathed their youngest brother. Where Mycroft learned to step aside and avoid conflict early on, William seemed determined to incite Sherrinford's displeasure. 

William pestered him with the kind of passion a blunt instrument took to bashing a delicate surface. It was crude and effective, but rarely achieved the desired result. He was loud and obnoxious. He cried for attention. He begged to be noticed, and Mycroft was certain one day Sherrinford was going to kill him.

Sherrinford was convinced that William arrived in their household to purposefully antagonize him. The only peace he would achieve would be to either leave the home, or force the boy to come to heel. So Mycroft braced himself by William’s side each night, ready to defend it at all costs. Mycroft soothed his baby brother’s wails. He played with him, made him laugh, and took him as far away from Sherrinford as possible. He kept the house silent, and did what he could to insure nothing ignited more of the older boy’s anger.

Their parents were kind enough, but they were oblivious to their children. They travelled often, and trusted Sherrinford implicitly. They left him in charge for weeks on end while they moved from place to place. Mycroft never begrudged their constant desire to leave, nor did he think anything of it. 

The idea of attending school was abhorrent. He was happy enough to teach his brother what he needed to know, and they read endless amounts of books to pass the time. Without their parents for guidance or education, Mycroft couldn't fathom what their point was. They were an irritant, nothing more. An irritant that oohed and ahhed at Sherrinford, and thought him to be the epitome of perfection. Mycroft hated them. 

When they were gone, Mycroft read their mother’s mathematic textbooks to William to put him to sleep. When he was older, Mycroft introduced him to various and intriguing games to occupy his mind. Their home became a palace of learning and curiosity. William begged to be read to, and to play-act the historical battles that he was "researching."

That, of course, was what they called it: research. They were researching fairy-tales, researching pirates, researching biology and chemistry. When they weren’t researching they were memorizing, deducing, and educating themselves. Mycroft refused to give their parents an excuse to send them to school. He wanted to stay away from the rest of the world, and never be bothered. They could take care of themselves.

Mycroft knew that the outside world was incapable of handling itself, let alone anyone else, and he wanted no part of it. He wanted William to have no part in it. “You would never fit in out there.” Sherrinford had said, time and again. “You’re backwards and bizarre. You can’t even talk to our parents and have them understand you, but you think that people out there will manage it?”

Mycroft, only once, had left home in an attempt to prove Sherrinford wrong. It turned out; his older brother hadn’t been lying. When he met other children, he found them to be so boring and slow that he couldn't understand how they managed to function. They were stupid, ignorant, aggravating individuals that fretted over the smallest qualms. William, of all people, was brighter than most of the adults that he’d come across, and he was practically a baby! It was unbelievable, and Mycroft had been so determined to prove his brother wrong. He hated that Sherrinford had been correct, but he was wise enough to accept it for what it was. The world was useless, and he was much better off at home. There, there was only one monster to fear. He could handle that. 

He made it his greatest effort to never repeat the process, and stayed far away from town if he could help it. Sherrinford managed the dull people in the world outside just fine. He enjoyed it even, and every so often Mycroft watched him interact with the townspeople. It was a fascinating transformation each time. Sherrinford morphed himself like a chameleon, as he spoke to each person. He was never one man, and he managed to convince everyone he met to do whatever he asked of them.

Mycroft didn't understand how his brother managed to appear so calm and friendly to everyone who passed by. Sherrinford was cruel, hateful, and angry. Yet to their neighbors he seemed like a rational and content child, with a strong sense of duty, that looked after his siblings well. Their stupidity only served to make Mycroft's opinions towards them grow worse over time. 

But Mycroft knew Sherrinford's abilities better than most. He knew just how he managed to seep into the minds of those around him, twisting them to his will. All he needed to do is make a suggestion, and everyone fell into place. He was a puppet master, and he enjoyed his game. 

William was Sherrinford's easy target for manipulation. He did whatever was asked of him in double time. It would have been sad, if Mycroft thought he had any chance of standing up to his older brother. The boy was only six, though, and there wasn't much hope for that. 

Sherrinford had taken to making up nicknames for both his brothers, and he used them often enough for them to catch on. William now insisted on calling Mycroft “Mike,” something Mycroft hated with every fiber of his being. Every time he heard the name, he could hear Sherrinford’s voice spin around the shortened letters and grate his nerves. It felt wrong. 

William never noticed his dissatisfaction. He used it often and never seemed willing to lengthen it. He walked up to Mycroft and called to him with that hated name, and because he was a good brother: Mycroft always answered. 

“What do you want Will?” He always asked in reply. 

While William was slow at times, Mycroft couldn't help but love him. He'd always answer him. He couldn't help it. At six, the boy was all elbows and knees, protruding joints that dug into Mycroft’s body whenever he went to do something. If Mycroft hadnt had proof to the contrary: he would be under the impression the boy couldn’t walk on his own. William climbed up people like cats did to trees, and he settled himself wherever was convenient.

He rushed to Mycroft the moment his name left his brother’s lips, and scrambled up his body. He gripped his limbs, dug his heels into Mycroft's hips, and clung to his neck as an anchor. He wrapped his legs around Mycroft's waist, and let loose a torrent of words from his throat. He chatted away, speaking so fast that Mycroft couldn't understand him at times. 

His voice was too loud, and it carried through their house. Mycroft settled his brother into a more comfortable position, as Sherrinford’s footsteps grow louder. He was getting irritated, and Mycroft cast an eye towards the door. They should leave. 

Mycroft hadn’t been listening to his little brother, and was brought back to attention when a sharp prod hit between his ribs. “Whatever was that for, William?” He asked in frustration, and the boy had the audacity to pout at him.

“You weren’t paying attention.” The boy told him in annoyance. Mycroft sighed, and adjusted his hold on the child. He was gaining weight. Mycroft wondered how tall the boy might grow, he hoped it was smaller than him. It would be nice to at least continue to have some leverage over his mouthy little brother. “I want to get a pet, will you help me?”

The idea was abhorring, and Mycroft grimaced. His eyes wandered towards the ceiling where he could all but hear Sherrinford starting to make his way towards them. His arms tightened around his little brother, and he started to move them towards the back door. It’d be easier to talk if they were outside. William’s hands gripped Mycroft’s shirt tight, and he turned his head to press it against Mycroft’s cheek. William never understood why Sherrinford was untrustworthy, but he knew Mycroft avoided him. He never complained outright when he was carried away from their older brother. He just accepted it as fact. 

Mycroft had almost reached the door when Sherrinford descended the stairs and turned the corner. He looked at them with a fierce scowl. “What on earth are you two doing?” He asked as he stalked closer to them. Mycroft opened his mouth to speak, when William piped up.

“I asked Mike for a pet, and he’s going to help me get one.” He announced with a smile, hands still clenched around Mycroft’s shirt as though his life depended on it. 

“A pet?” Sherrinford asked, moving towards them. Mycroft’s hand tingled on the door knob. “What kind of pet do you want, Willie?” William frowned, and Mycroft felt his throat go dry.

“Will. It’s Will. I don’t like Willie.” Sherrinford laughed at that, before he leaned down, great back arching with devastating poise.

“That’s not for you to decide is it? If I’m to call you something, might as well be something I like saying, isn’t that right, Willie?”

“No.” William said, shaking his head and knocking curls in every direction. “No that’s not how it works. I don’t like it, do away with it.”

“Well I don’t like you much, does that mean I can just do away with you?” William’s mouth fell open in something akin to shock and Mycroft forced his hand to twist the knob and open the backdoor.

“We’ll just be outside. I’ll feed him.” Mycroft said quickly as he pushed the door open and moved to step outside. Sherrinford’s hand snapped out to grip Mycroft’s shoulder, stilling him. His other hand reached around to slip through William’s curls, holding his head steady.

“Don’t be out too long.” He warned them sotto voce, before pulling away and letting them leave. Mycroft flew out the door. He hurried, one foot in front of the other, not stopping until they were well into the woods. They lost sight of their ill painted house soon enough. William was quiet the whole time, and for once he didn’t squirm in Mycroft’s arms as they escaped into the great outdoors.

After a time, the boy’s weight grew too much for Mycroft to be able to handle, and he carefully lowered his brother down onto the ground. William’s hand immediately found his, and he clenched it tight. “What kind of pet do you want?” Mycroft asked, anxious to discuss anything aside from what had just transpired. He could hear his heart beating out a rapid tat-too in his chest. He was uncomfortable, and he hated the feeling more than anything else. 

“You’re scared of him.” William said, ignorant of Mycroft’s attempts to ignore the experience. 

“I am not.” It was a futile defense and one that not even the simpletons that lived in town would believe.

“You ran away.” William pointed out. His nose was scrunched up in thought. Mycroft knew better than to try to dissuade him of his opinion too. William’s mind connected events and memories easily, and he knew how to give those events meaning. It was one of the few things that made him a worthwhile companion in the first place. He wouldn't believe it if Mycroft attempted to deny their flight. It was futile to try. 

“Tactical retreat.” Manipulating the situation, though, worked often enough. 

“Like Napoleon?” William asked, tilting his head up to look at Mycroft with an analytic expression on his face.

“I suppose so.” He agreed. A noise echoed through the woods and his heart leaped once more. His hand tightened around William's grip, and he bit his lower lip in concern. He looked about them with sharp eyes, but there was no one there. There never was. 

“Definitely afraid.” William muttered mutinously. Mycroft’s glared at him, and squeezed his hand hard in response. The boy yelped and yanked his hand back, rubbing it in annoyance. “I didn’t do anything wrong!” He shouted, and Mycroft grimaced at the words.

“Of course not, brother mine, it was an accident.”

“I don’t like being called that either.” William decided, looking around for a tree to climb up and get injured on. He found the most likely candidate and dug his fingers into the bark. He was half way up the tree before Mycroft could so much as attempt a protest. All the while scrambling up it like a squirrel. Mycroft had given up trying to quell his brother’s incessant urge to climb things long ago. Instead, he found the most likely spot William would pitch out of the tree should he lose his grip, and prepared to catch him if he fell. 

“‘Brother mine?’” Mycroft confirmed, and William shouted his agreement.

“He says it all the time.” William explained, yelling down to him. “Just to be contrary.” Mycroft could only see William's shirt now, and he wondered if it was worth telling the boy to at least stay in eye sight. Probably not.

“You are his brother. It’s not contrary.” Mycroft replied.

“He doesn’t act like our brother.” William complained. “How come he never joins us?” 

“You heard him yourself, Will, he doesn’t like us.”

“No. He said he didn’t much like me, he didn’t say that to you.”

“Plural you, dear brother, you do know that yous come in plural form.” There was an annoyed huff.

“In context – it was at me.”

“You can be recalcitrant all you want, but the world does not revolve around you Will. It was plural. We’re equally disliked.”

“The world revolves around the sun!” William exclaimed, and Mycroft rolled his eyes at his brother’s obvious lack of attention. There was an ominous creak, and he shouted up a warning, that was completely ignored, and a snap echoed through the woods. Mycroft jumped out of the way as a stick fluttered down towards him. Looking up again, he caught sight of William hugging onto a sturdier branch like a monkey. 

“Careful!”

“I’ve never fallen before.” William argued stubbornly.

“Let’s not test that theory. In that position you’d break your spine and be dead. Would you like to be dead?”

“Will Sherry play with us if I die?” William asked curiously. Mycroft wished he could understand where his brother came up with such foolish ideas, half of them didn't make any sense. 

“Of course not, Will. He’ll not even visit your tomb stone. You’ll be alone in that grave and you won’t even realize who comes and goes because you’ll be dead.”

“But I could be a ghost, and haunt him. That could be fun.”

“It wouldn’t be.” Mycroft said. “Who would you speak to?”

“Other ghosts. You could die too, and then we’d haunt him together. Will you die with me, Mycroft?” It was true: his brother was an idiot.

“No. Now get down from there and I’ll show you an ant colony I found.” William practically jumped from branch to branch in his haste to descend. At one point he swung and hovered in midair until he caught the next limb, summersaulting at the end and landing on his feet in perfect form. Mycroft hated his acrobatics. 

He released a long suffering sigh, caught his little brother's hand again, and led the way through the woods. William hopped from one foot to the other, prattling on and on about ghosts and the idea of coming back from the dead. This past month he'd read through Frankenstein, Dracula, and another monster novel before that. It had had an obvious effect on him. He didn't seem to grasp the concept that the dead stayed dead forever. It was almost tragic how delusional he was. 

By the time they’d come to the ant colony, Mycroft was more than happy to distract his brother's death ridden tirade. He had just begun a dissertation on the pranks zombies could play, and Mycroft was sick of it already. He all but shoved William to his knees by the colony and motioned towards the hill with a jerking motion. William’s mouth finally snapped closed as he peered over the colony with avid interest.

“Now, these ants are not poisonous-” Mycroft began.

“They come in poison?” William was far too excited by the prospect, and Mycroft wished he could understand what was so fascinating with that.

“They have poisonous varieties, yes.”

“Where?”

“All over. Their coloration is redder, ranging from a dark to light. Their bites hurt far worse than these black ones, though of course the black ants rarely bite." He paused for a moment, considering. Then he continued. He explained about the strength of the ant body, their standard food source, and their general habitat. He told his brother about the hierarchy of the ants, and how ants were born. he even discussed tunnel creation and construction. 

The whole while, William looked at him with wide eyes. he was intent on remembering everything Mycroft told him. He always did. So far, Mycroft hadn't known him to forget a thing. "The pet shop in town may have an ant farm colony for sale. There, you would be able to see the ants’ living in their tunnels and collecting food each day.”

“Can we go now?” William asked, abandoning the colony and Mycroft without so much as a second glance. He was hurrying as fast as he could towards town, little legs carrying him as fast as he could go. He was determined, Mycroft gave him that. Endeavoring to catch his brother, Mycroft double timed it after the boy. 

“We don’t have any money, and we’d have to ask Mummy and Daddy.” William was either ignoring him, or didn’t hear him over his own focused thinking. Both were likely, and both were the most insufferable traits Mycroft felt his brother possessed. “Will…Will, we can’t get the farm now. We have to ask permission.”

“Mummy and Daddy are never home. It’s not like they’ll notice.”

“They might.” Mycroft hissed, snatching William’s arm into his hand and jerking him to a stop. The boy tripped over himself in the process, and when he looked up at Mycroft he looked close to tears.

“Why can’t I have an ant farm, Mike?”

“Because we can’t get you a pet, let alone several dozen pets, without permission, that’s why!”

“But they’ll never notice! They’re stupid!”

“They’re not as stupid as you.” William flinched, and Mycroft sighed. “Come along, let’s go back to the colony. We can still watch them for a while.”

“Don’t want to.” William said, face falling faster than ever. His eyes grew watery and his bottom lip blubbered somewhat. “Just go home and read.” He made to move away, but Mycroft didn’t budge.

“No.” He insisted, shaking his head. “No, not yet. It’s not dark yet, there’s plenty of time. We shouldn’t go back just yet.” Tears started to press out of William's eyes, and Mycroft sank to his knees in front of him. He pulled the boy to his chest and hugged him close. “I’m sorry, William. But not just yet.”

“When you’re not scared of Sherry anymore?”

“Yes. Yes William, when I’m not scared of Sherry anymore.” Mycroft allowed, because the idea of going back to that house, right at that moment, was too terrifying for him to imagine. He couldn’t do it. Better yet: he wouldn’t do. Especially not with William attached to his side.

"Okay. Okay." William wrapped his arms around his older brother's neck, and buried his nose into Mycroft's throat. Feeling a bit of added pressure as suggestion, the teenager pulled him upwards and wrapped his arms around his body. He carried William back to the colony, and they sat together side by side until well after the sun had set. 

Neither said much of anything, but William sat curled up beside his brother. He didn't try to get away again, and even dozed a little under the sun. It would be hard to keep William completely oblivious to the things that happened in the house the more he grew older. He was an idiot, but he memorized everything. He only needed exposure to something once to feel the complete effects of it. Soon, William would cotton on to the type of person their brother was. When he did, Mycroft only wished that it wasn't going to harm William forever. There was little hope for that, though. 

When it was finally time to head back, they walked through the woods as quiet as could be. Mycroft quizzed his brother on the stars and constellations, and William told him each one that he could remember. He missed a few here or there, but it was acceptable. Their parents would be proud, whenever they got home that is. 

They slipped in the back. The lights were out in the house and Mycroft let out a sigh of relief. Sherrinford had left. They could make dinner and then read a book and nothing would happen for the rest of the evening. He led William over to the kitchen and helped him hop onto the countertop where he could swing his legs and ‘help’ cook dinner. 

Mycroft longed for a quick and easy meal that was not going to cause a mess or keep them too long. He hated staying out in the open to be found, and he always listened for the sounds of someone approaching. He located some bread and cheese, eager to make a simple sandwich and be done with the whole process. 

William chatted as he worked, and he put a few encouraging noises that were in no way responsive. He usually failed at being a conversationalist until they made it back to bed. William gave up on him every time, and snatched a book from the counter to read. He flipped through the pages at a sedate pace, and Mycroft listened to the pages turn as he worked. Each page seemed to be taking a longer time than normal, and he glanced over his shoulder to see what William had chosen. 

From the cover, he was reading a math book of sorts. It was a simple thing meant for simple children, algebra or trigonometry or some such nonsense. Mycroft didn’t even know when it had gotten on the counter, but it must have migrated there at one point or another. 

He had just finished serving the sandwiches on a plate, when a thought struck Mycroft that he hadn’t considered before. “Will, whose book is that?” 

“Dunno.” He replied with a single lifted shoulder. Panic set in on instinct, and Mycroft snatched the text from the boy’s hands. William was screaming in an instant. “Give it back! I was reading it! It’s mine!”

“It’s not yours, its not either of ours. You know you can’t touch things that aren’t yours!” 

“I was reading it!” 

“It doesn’t matter!” 

“It does! Give it back!”

“Be quiet, Will!” Mycroft hissed as he batted away his brother’s grabbing fingers. “Can’t you just be quiet?!” 

“What for?!”

“You’re causing an utter racket, that’s what for.” Both brothers froze at the sound of Sherrinford’s light-hearted tone. They turned to see him standing at the entrance to the kitchen, shirt missing and robe sprawled over his shoulders. His hair was mussed and his skin flushed. Mycroft immediately pushed the book back onto the counter and dragged William off it. The boy kicked and fussed the whole way, but his complaints had much less fight in them than usual. 

More footsteps approached the kitchen, and Mycroft glanced towards the door. A young woman appeared behind Sherrinford’s shoulder, hair mussed and clothes rumpled. She made a half-hearted effort to fix them, before exclaiming: “Oh! I didn’t realize your brothers were so cute. They’re adorable, Sherry!” She said in an oozing voice that was bizarre and out of place in the tense environment of their kitchen. 

“Aren’t they? I couldn’t agree more. Willie, come here and say hello to Elizabeth.” Sherrinford said with a smile, moving forwards and motioning at William. The boy didn’t move, glancing between his eldest brother and his guest with rapid glimpses. 

“You just had sex.” He proclaimed brightly. Mycroft gripped his shoulder hard, and wished his brother could manage to be far less of an idiot on a more regular basis. Elizabeth moaned in embarrassment, though Sherrinford managed to look amused by the comment. He stepped closer to them, and his eyes glittered with something fierce. 

“Aren’t you a clever one?” Sherrinford asked him, tone just managing to carry some form of brevity. William’s mouth fell open somewhat, and he looked to Mycroft in amazement. Sherrinford never complimented him. Ever. The possible sarcasm escaped William completely, and all he heard was the compliment. It was awful. Then, Sherrinford's eyes traveled towards their sandwiches. “Is that what you two are having for dinner?” He motioned towards the plates. 

“Yes. We were going to go out again after.” Mycroft hurried to say before William had any more brilliant ideas. 

“It’s far too late for that, Mike. And, look at the state of this. No wonder the pair of you never gain any weight at all. Might as well eat together, hm? I’ll make supper?” Sherrinford swept the sandwiches straight into the bin before tossing the plates into the sink. 

“Now Sherry! What a waste of food.” Elizabeth complained immediately, though she laughed not long afterwards. “What can I do to help?” 

“No, no no. My treat, for you and my brothers. I should have done this ages ago, but they took so long getting back. It’s my fault after all.” William looked to Mycroft like he couldn’t quite work out what was happening. For a moment, neither did Mycroft. He felt his stomach twist and turn as he watched pans start appearing on the oven. “Please, I’m happy to make dinner.” 

“You’re so kind!” Elizabeth gushed, and Mycroft grit his teeth as he watched her lean over his brother and press her lips to his cheek. Sherrinford gave her a bright smile and then returned to his task. “So…how old are you Willie?” Elizabeth asked, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Six years, two months, fourteen days.” He replied immediately, turning to look back at her. 

“Wow! That’s precise, counting down to your next birthday then?” She asked with a laugh. 

“No.” He said immediately. She faltered somewhat, but one couldn’t claim her to not be persistent. 

“What do you like to do for fun then?” 

“Research with Mycroft.” He said on instinct, and Mycroft felt an unusual burst of fondness for his brother. It wasn’t often that he was caught off guard by something William said or did, but that was particularly a well placed shot.

“Research?” She gasped and began playing with a strand of her hair. “What do you research?” 

“Today we researched ants and their cultural hierarchy. As well as their environmental co-dependency on the variety of subspecies in this area. We’ll be looking for poisonous ants, and compare them to their non-venomous cousins next.” The look on Elizabeth’s face was almost enough to make Mycroft laugh. She seemed so flabbergasted that she didn’t know what to say at all. She glanced at Sherrinford who refused to turn to look back at his brother at all, and acknowledge what had just left this mouth. When she glanced towards Mycroft for help, he refused to give her the satisfaction of agreeing that the statement was odd. 

“I…I see…” Elizabeth said, raising her nails to her mouth to nibble on them. 

Mycroft glanced at Sherrinford the whole while, scanning him for any sign on where this night was going and what was coming or them. His brother continued playing perfect host, though. He teased Elizabeth with gentle jokes and great smiles, he ruffled William's hair and he cooked them a brilliant meal. 

Afterwards, he cleaned the dishes, and even walked Elizabeth to her house three streets away. “Don’t wander off in the dark, Mike. Could be dangerous.” Sherrinford told them before leaving. As soon as the door clicked shut, Mycroft dragged his little brother upstairs and forced him ready for bed. 

William pulled on his pirate pajamas that their mother had bought for him, and then went to find a book. Mycroft usually read to him for a while before turning off the light and crawling into his own bed to sleep. Their shared room was something Mycroft had begged their parents' for, and he never regretted the decision. He as happy to be able to keep an eye on his brother. Both of them, whenever the need arose to watch both. 

No sooner had Mycroft finished pulling his clothes on, did he turn to find William preparing to jump from his bookcase. He caught the boy mid leap, and carried him to bed. He tugged the covers over his little brother’s shoulders he inspected the book they were going to read together. It was about pirates. He almost laughed, but refrained from doing so. It was always about pirates. 

No sooner had he sat on the bed, did William reach out and snuggle against his side. They sat together, for another hour, reading their book in peace. Mycroft wished he could say William would grow out of this phase one day, but it might be asking for too much. William's obsession was almost endearing, and it was harmless for now. 

As time passed, William’s fingers gripped Mycroft’s shirt tighter. He made a quiet keening noise every so often, wriggling until Mycroft told him to sit still. Usually he wasn’t this fidgety and went to sleep without too much complaint. He was out like a light after the second chapter most evenings, but he was being difficult that night. 

“My?” William mumbled after his older brother finished one of the battles. 

“Are you still awake?” Mycroft asked him, frustrated. 

“Don’t feel good.” 

“You have to go to bed, Will. I don’t want to be up reading to you all-” He never finished. William twisted to the other side of the mattress in a frenzied move that left him tangled in a heap as he heaved sick over the side of their bed. Mycroft jumped back in horror, dropping the book onto the ground and catching his brother by his shoulders to help prop him up. 

William’s neck and face was burning hot. He was shivering too, and Mycroft immediately pulled his brother upright. In less than a second, he scooped him up and out of bed. For once, William didn’t try to shift into a better position, and he let himself be carried bridal style. His head lolled back and his eyes fluttered. When Mycroft called his name, he didn't respond. 

“Will? Will, wake up.” Mycroft shook his brother’s body hard, and the boy’s blue eyes blinked up at him in confusion. “Will-”

“My…don’ feel good…” William mumbled once more. They’d barely made it to the bathroom before William was vomiting again. Mycroft shoved his head over the toilet in hopes of maintaining the mess. The smell of was putrid, but he held his brother nonetheless. 

His own stomach was churning, but he ignored it as he stood to reach the medicine cabinet. William was sobbing now, tears slipping down his face as he was wracked with another set of debilitating nausea. He rubbed his throat unconsciously, crying hysterically the whole while. 

There were no anti-pyretics in the medicine cabinet, and Mycroft cursed as he checked on his brother once again. He was far too hot. His eyes were glazing somewhat and now his breathing was getting shallow. “Will? Will…I…” Mycroft felt a tight tug in his bowels and he pressed a hand to his mouth as sick started to climb up his throat. He swallowed hard, but the inclination to purge grew too much. William yelped in surprise as Mycroft became sick as well. 

“Now…just what have you two gotten into now?” Sherrinford’s voice was like ice down Mycroft’s spine. He turned to look over his shoulder and stared up at his older brother dumbly. He didn’t look surprised, nor even a slight bit concerned. Instead, his lips were twisted into an almost amused expression. Mycroft’s hands clenched and unclenched as he struggled to work through what they should be doing. 

“Food poisoning.” William’s voice echoed off of the tiled walls, and Mycroft desperately wished that he’d just stayed silent. Sherrinford’s grin split wide and he stalked into the bathroom. 

He leaned over them both, and Mycroft pushed his hands out – desperate to keep him back. It was useless, and he could feel his limbs shaking under the effort. Another urge to vomit was starting to curl in his gut and he could feel his bowels preparing for their own release of fluids. 

“Unwise, brother mine, to say things that you don’t know a thing about. Most unwise.” Sherrinford leaned down and pressed a kiss to William’s head. “Come, you need a doctor.” Then he pulled William up off the ground, ignored him as he weakly pushed against him, and glanced down his nose to Mycroft. “Aren’t you coming as well, brother mine?” He asked simply. 

Then he turned, and he carried William away. Mycroft raised a shaking hand to the sink, and pulled himself upright. He followed without another word. 

What other choice did he have?


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mycroft and William return from the hospital, Sherrinford is there to look after them. 
> 
> When their parents finally come home from abroad, they don't notice the changes in their children. 
> 
> Mycroft makes a decision that will change their lives forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to keep these two parts of 'Brother Mine' together as they're so close chronologically. This is the final segment of this particular arc. 
> 
> The next update for Brother Mine will be coming soon, in a new story. Bookmark series to see all updates as they arrive. 
> 
> If you'd like, you can follow me on Tumblr http://falcon-fox-and-coyote.tumblr.com
> 
> As always, thank you for reading!

**Chapter:**

Sherrinford charmed the doctors with ease. He asked all the right questions and showed just the right amount of concern. He pulled William into his lap, stroked his fever soaked hair and whispered tales of pirates into his brother's ear.

 Mycroft had insisted on being in the bed next to William. Through the pain, nausea, and exhaustion, he  forced himself to stay awake the whole night to watch. He didn't trust Sherrinford, and he refused to take his eyes off of him. It was a useless endeavor. Sherrinford would never attempt murder surrounded by so many people. Every so often, his older brother would smile towards him and ask how he was feeling. It felt like a stab in the chest each time.

When they finally returned home, Mycroft brought William straight to bed. The six year old's fragile body hadn't handled his illness well. The dehydration and nutrient loss was extreme. He slept like the dead and the analogy grated on Mycroft’s nerves as he hugged the boy to his side and refused to let him go.

 “I’ll let you both sleep. Try to get some rest, Mike. It’s for the best.” Sherrinford told them, voice low and soothing. He flicked the lights off and closed the door to their room without so much as a backward glance. Mycroft shivered in the dark, and ran a hand over his brother's curls. The fever was gone, but the memory of his brother's ragged breathing and wide eyes remained.

 William had bee sick before. He'd been miserable and aching the whole while, but he had never been so scared. Mycroft suspected that was what hurt the most. William had trusted Mycroft to keep him safe, and he had failed to do so. He'd failed, and William hadn't had a simple illness. He'd been poisoned in his own home.  

Almost a week passed before William felt well enough to move out of bed and do more then poke at the food that was set before him. Mycroft fixed him soup from the can, and sat by his side the whole while. When William moved to sit with Mycroft as he cooked, Sherrinford decided it was time to play an active role in his recovery.  He insisted on making them lunch, and the moment the food was placed before them, he smiled. 

"Aren't you hungry, brother mine?" Sherrinford asked William. Mycroft watched in silence as William reached for his utensils and struggled through the meal. His eyes were watery as he forced the food into his mouth, and each mouthful seemed like a testament to his tenacity.

No one was surprised when William was sick again that night. His fever spiked, his energy dropped, and he was delirious once more. This time, Sherrinford didnt take them to the hospital. Instead, he shoved a fistful of drugs in Mycroft's direction and told him to handle it.

Four months later, William refused to eat at all. Every time food was put in front of him, he crossed his arms over his chest and denied it. Sherrinford enjoyed pretending that he didn't know why William was acting the way he was. Mycroft loathed his older brother even more.

When Mycroft finally managed to get William to eat something, Sherrinford found new ways to hover near by. He'd stand by William's elbow, waving a hand over his plate. 

“Come now, brother mine, not hungry in the least?” Sherrinford asked William whenever he saw him making an attempt to eat. The boy would always try to escape, and would always fail. Sherrinford’s hand would squeeze down on William’s shoulder and reach for his fork. “Eat, Willie. Or you’ll waste away like a dead thing still living. You’ll be little more than Frankenstein’s monster awaiting its end.” If William still resisted, Sherrinford would force the fork into William’s mouth. Sometimes a tine would spear William’s lip, and blood would drip down his chin. If he still resisted, Sherrinford would hold him down with more force and continue to ply more and more food into his mouth.

“Not eating is unwise, brother mine. Remember that.”

When he left, William would sit still and stare at his plate for a long while. Mycroft knew better than to try to speak to him, he never wanted to talk. He only wanted to leave, and leave he did. William always left the house and went to the woods. They were lucky if he came back before dark. Or at least, Mycroft considered dully, he was lucky. He doubted Sherrinford cared much either way. 

Their parents came back almost a month after William's decision to abstain from eating began. They brought with them dozens of presents and endless amounts of good humor. Mycroft half wondered if his parents lived in a world of utter delusion. Neither of them noticed anything wrong.  Neither Mycroft nor William gave a damn about the presents they were brought. Trinkets and toys were useless, as were parents who did nothing to help them when they needed it. 

Sherrinford was their parent's favorite. He always let their mother fawn over him. He was their doting boy, getting them everything they needed and doing exactly as he was told. He never could resist manipulating a room when he had the opportunity. Sherrinford filled their father’s wine glass with a smile. He massaged their mother's shoulders with a laugh. He even listened to their stories with an expression of rapt attention plastered to his face.

William never knew what to do with either of his parents. Unlike Mycroft and Sherrinford who had been raised by them to an extent, William had spent only half of his short life with either of them. They felt that Sherrinford, at twenty, was old enough and wise enough to tend to his little brothers. They wanted to see the world. So they left, and thought nothing of it. The result was simple: their youngest son viewed them as interlopers. William looked at them like he looked at the neighbor folk in town: with heavy suspicion and a deep lack of faith.  Even as damaged as his relationship with Sherrinford was, he trusted his oldest brother more than his parents. Sherrinford was the enemy he knew after all.

While their parents were obvious in their desire to see how William had grown, the young boy wanted nothing to do with them. He attached himself at Mycroft’s side, murmuring again and again that he wanted to go out and do research. Mycroft shook his head and muttered in turn that they couldn’t. Their parents were home, and that meant staying inside and catering to their whims. If they didn’t, it would be unwise. Sherrinford watched them at all times, and Mycroft was determined not to incite his ire. 

Their first meal together as a family of five was almost a breaking point for William. Their mother had decided to take the family out to dinner, and they settled into a table somewhere in town. It was a fancy restaurant, one that had wait staff a plenty. Each server came and presented food and drink like it was a ballet. All the crumbs were swept neatly off the table with silver lengths of metal that caught the light and glistened as they set to work.

William hadn’t so much as touched his water glass; let alone reach for a roll. There was a system to feeding William, and preparing food out of sight was not involved. The conviction was admirable, even if the cause was unfortunate. Mycroft wondered if he could convince one of the wait staff to bring an unopened bag of crisps for the boy to snack on. It was perhaps the only way to convince William to eat. He shrugged off the idea as soon as it came to him, though. Their parents wouldn’t understand.

“Not hungry, sweetheart?” Their mother asked, nudging some of William’s curls from his face. He shook his head in response, keeping his eyes fixed on his lap. He looked like he was sulking. The truth was far worse. He hadn't eaten all day. There'd been no time.  Mycroft wondered how long it would take their parents to notice that William’s stomach had been growling for at least an hour. He was hungry, but he believed he'd be poisoned if he so much as attempted to eat the food placed before him. 

When the waitress came to take their order Sherrinford, ordered William's favorite meal for him. The child's hands tightened around the napkin in his lap, and Mycroft reached out to hold one. At the opportune moment, he leaned over and whispered in William’s ear: “I’ll help you finish it.” William’s tiny fingers latched onto his palm, and Mycroft held it for the rest of their meal.

The food arrived in a flourish and everyone immediately started to dig in. Mycroft took William’s plate immediately and started to cut everything into microscopic portions. It would be easier to sneak some off his plate the smaller there were. Their mother cooed about what a wonderful brother he was, and he smiled at her in response. Meanwhile William’s hands continued strangling his napkin. His legs were vibrating with nervous tension under the table. Mycroft wished he'd been able to sneak him something earlier, but he'd missed his only opportunity. William was starving, but he wouldn't eat out. Even if he did, it wasn’t enough for a growing child and Mycroft wished there was something more he could do.

The moment Mycroft had run out of things to do to his plate, he was forced to give it to William to manage. The six year old looked like he’d been served his own death sentence, and sat pale faced and frozen at the sight of all the food before him. It took longer than it should have done for their parents to notice, and it was their father who frowned at him and asked if he was feeling sick. 

“Stomach ache.” William mumbled, not quite lying since did hurt from hunger, but it was not the full truth.

“Poor boy. Do you need a doctor?”

 “No.” William shook his head and bit his lip.

“You should eat, brother mine. Wouldn’t want you to get sick.” Sherrinford offered, voice soft and kind. William went even paler, and Mycroft bit the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking.

“Already sick. Don’t wanna eat.” William mumbled, and like clockwork he slipped off his chair and into Mycroft’s lap. His older brother supported his weight with ease and held him close, refusing to question or comment the action in the least. Their parents were concerned, and shared a perturbed glance. The child they’d left behind months ago had eaten everything that was put before him, even while sick. This was an unwelcome sight and Mycroft felt a strange bit of pride in knowing that they were uncomfortable at last.

They deserved it.

Dinner was more somber after that. William eventually fell asleep, and Mycroft held onto him with stubborn resolve the whole way to the car. He’d only asked if they could get some snacks from a local store for dessert. They allowed it, and he snatched several of William’s favorites before returning to the vehicle and back to the house.

William woke up when they got back inside and their father dragged them both off to check on him. As their father ran through the standard battery of health tests, Mycroft moved to his room to change into his nightwear. It was there that he heard and listened the sounds of his mother and older brother laughing in the kitchen. William soon became  belligerent with their father, and insisted on being left alone. He wanted to sleep, and Mycroft grimaced at the thought of his brother sleeping without any dinner. Finishing up in his room, he hurried back down the stairs to collect William's snacks.

“Oh, Mike- we just opened these for dessert, you’re just in time.” Sherrinford smiled up at him as soon as he entered the kitchen. In his hands were the packages of food that Mycroft had hoped to present to William.  Mycrofts heart stuttered in his chest for a moment and he clenched his fists. “Come join us brother mine.” Sherrinford motioned for him, and Mycroft forced his feet forwards. 

He sat beside his brother, and he waited. There was nothing he could do. Their father wandered in fifteen minutes later. He told them all that William was sleeping. Their mother said it was for the best. Sherrinford agreed sleep would do him good. All Mycroft could think of, was that his six year old brother wasn't asleep. He was laying in bed wide awake with his stomach squeezing itself in starvation while his tears stained his pillow.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mycroft carried William to the corner store the next day. The boy was lighter than ever and he slept on his shoulder in fits. His limbs hung akimbo at his sides and if Mycroft attempted to talk to him, he would didn't respond. It was frightening. Their parents hadn’t even noticed.

As soon as they entered the shop, he found a collection of foods that would improve his brother’s nutrition. He bought them without a second thought.  He took the packages with him, and stopped at the local park. There, he settled William down and gave him a container of chocolate milk to drink. He opened the packaged foods in front of his brother, and William dug in with vigorous passion.

“You can’t keep doing this.” Mycroft told him, concern evident. William was near ravenous, and he was eating too fast. He’d make himself sick just by the speed alone, and Mycroft steadied him through the attempted binge. Will looked up at him with a desolate expression and shook his head.

“There’s something wrong with him.” William told him. His voice was raw and almost broken. Mycroft insisted he drink some water, and he did without question. 

“I know…I know, but he likely won’t try to poison us with our parents here. And he can't contaminate anything prepared in a restaurant kitchen."

“Do you promise?” William asked him, hugging his package of crisps to his chest. His face was tragic and pale. He looked so weak that Mycroft grit his teeth.

“I can’t.” Mycroft told him. He refused to lie to William. Sherrinford did it enough for both of them.  “There are too many variables. I can't promise you that.”

“Was he like this? Before?” William’s voice cracked again, and he sipped more at the milk Mycroft had provided before returning to the water.

“Before you were born?” Mycroft clarified, struggling to think about what his older brother had been like then. It had been quite some time ago, and he'd been young himself.

Sherrinford had always seemed detached, somehow different and wrong compared to the rest of them. Their parents were around more often back then too. Seven years Mycroft’s senior, Sherrinford had been disinterested in him from the start. Their parents monitored them with watchful eyes. If Sherrinford had wanted to cause the kind of damage now back then - he never had the opportunity. Whatever else he was, Sherrinford was not stupid. He would never do anything that would get him caught.

Sherrinford had the capacity to be kind, though. Mycroft remembered reading books and learning about the world with his brother. He’d enjoyed the memories, and Sherrinford had seemed pleased with the interaction as well. His motives, Mycroft now analyzed, were likely not innocent at all. Still, the encounters hadn’t been…terrifying. They hadn't been like they were now.

Mycroft couldn’t remember when they became that way. He only knew that one-day he realized his brother was not what he seemed to be and it had changed everything. There were several occasions that struck out in his mind. The death of their family dog was torn to pieces and left for the maid to find in the back yard. They were told an animal did it. Several “accidents” had led to various injuries over the years, each one seeming more wrong than the last. Sherrinford always looked concerned about him afterwards. It never felt real. 

He broke more than one of Mycroft’s treasured belongings, and hadn’t seemed to care one way or another about it. He lit fires during one month of experimentation and blamed it on Mycroft when their house almost burned down.  Somehow, Sherrinford had convinced their parents that Mycroft was the dangerous one. They believed him without question.

Then, when Sherrinford learned their mother was going to have a baby, Mycroft remembered how angry he became. He’d been afraid from then on, and knew without a doubt that Sherrinford was dangerous.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Mycroft told his little brother. William was separate from everything Sherrinford is and was. He wasn't responsible for their brother’s insanity.

“He’s this way though now. What’s changed?”

“Lack of supervision for one. It seems…he rebels without it.”

“Is that what it’s called?” William didn't like the analysis and Mycroft wished there was something else he could say to make it better. He just urged him to eat more, knowing that William's new habit would be harder to hide the longer their parents stayed at home. Idly, he wondered when they would leave again. It wasn’t like they needed them here. The only benefit Mycroft could see, was that their presence kept Sherrinford mildly in check. If William could start eating normally again it was certainly a positive.

Once William was full they wandered back towards the house. As soon as they entered their parents insisted that they chat. They wanted to know all about their lives, every moment that they had missed out on while they’d been out adventuring. Dutifully, both brothers gave their responses.

Sherrinford walked in not long after and kissed both parents on their cheeks. He ruffled William’s curls before calling over his shoulder he was off to see Elizabeth for a while. Mycroft watched him go, and he felt his heart start to pound heavily behind his ribs.

Everything felt stilted and uncomfortable. Their parents’ praise was something that came far too often and seemed far too out of place. They spoke about meaningless things and they lived such meaningless lives. Their mother at least had the intelligence to speak on their level, but their father was backwards in comparison.

For the most of William’s life, Mycroft thought he’d taken after their father. Stupid and slow, incapable of managing anything at all. It astounded Mycroft when he realized that William could manage to do more than others his age. It hadn’t spoken well for the human race by and large.

Mycroft rubbed his fingers together as he watched  his little brother and his parents together. Their father smiled at his children in that completely amazed and vapid expression he always wore. He was far too fond and proud of them. It was a shame that he was so ignorant to everything that William said or did. He wanted to connect with his boys in some way, and three times in a row he'd lost his opportunity. Still, his affection was obvious, and Mycroft never doubted the man's honest love for them.

Their mother was more tactile than their father. She tugged and pulled on William’s arms and legs, making him sit up against her body and allow her to run her hands through his curls. William shifted in his mother’s lap. His weight leaned from one leg to another and he was scowling in discomfort. Whenever she tried to settle him, he frowned deeper and complained more. “Down. Put me down!” He insisted.

“Oh nonsense. You don’t mind when Mikey holds you.”

“I _like_ Mike.” William told her, gaining purchase at long last and tugging free. His mother stared at him in shock, mouth fallen open and eyes wide. She looked so wounded by the insinuation that Mycroft almost felt bad for her. It was difficult to garner the emotion, though. They’d come and gone so often over the past few years that it was only natural that William didn’t have a kind word to say.

Still, the point had been made. Now they needed to fix it. “Apologize, Will.” Mycroft told him. His little brother shot him an annoyed look and crossed his arms.

“No. I don’t like them. I don’t want them here. Make them go.”

“Will, they're our parents-”

“No. No. They’re not my parents. They’re your parents. I know what that word means, and they’re not mine. They don’t raise me. They don’t! They just leave. Always. They leave us with Sherry and I hate him, and it’s all their fault. You said so.” Realizing the tantrum was only going to get worse, Mycroft made a half-hearted effort to move William from the room.

Their father stopped him. While their mother sat on the couch, mortified, he navigated the span of their living room and crouched before his son. “What’s Sherry done to make you hate him so?” He asked, taking William’s hands in his. The boy was vibrating with nervous energy and he shook his head.

“Go away! Why can’t you just go away?” He tugged on his hands, and their father moved to pull William closer to his chest. He held him tight and ran one hand through his youngest child’s hair. William thrashed out with bold, violent, movements. His small fists wailed against his limbs over and over, and his back twisted this way and that.

The tears were inevitable. Mycroft knew his brother well enough to spot a meltdown coming, and he saw it now. William’s voice screeched out in a wordless proclamation of protest. He sobbed against his father’s body and fought him every step of the way. Their mother watched onwards, frozen in place with no idea what to do or how to manage.

Mycroft glanced towards the door, confirming that Sherrinford had left the house. This was one final opportunity, and perhaps the only chance he had to set things right. He turned his attention towards his underweight little brother. He took in the exhaustion the tantrum had caused. He memorized the image of William struggling in their father's arms. Tears had started to form in the boy's eyes. He was giving up, and he was only a baby. His efforts had been futile. He knew, just as Mycroft did, that nothing was going to change. Not if Sherrinford was still there.

The truth was sudden in its clarity. William had announced it all those months ago. Sherrinford scared him. Not knowing what Sherrinford might do, where his limits lay, was terrifying. Mycroft was afraid that one day it would be too much, and no one would be around. Sherrinford would craft the story around the truth. He’d say that his little brothers had gone out to play and must have gotten lost. He’d say that it was a tragedy that Mycroft and William ate that bad food. He'd lament how William fell out of a tree he shouldn't have climbed. He'll weep for Mycroft being attacked by an animal in the woods. He’d say all those things, and despite lying through his teeth:  everyone would believe him. They always did.

“Sherrinford poisoned us.” The words came out calm and steady. Both of their parents immediately looked to Mycroft in shock. Their mother started to protest, telling him that he was wrong, but Mycroft had made his decision. One chance. He had one chance to make this work, and if it didn’t: he’d have to leave. He’d take William with him. They could go someplace else, anyplace else. They had family in the city – they might take them. They could avoid Sherrinford. It’d be difficult, but they’d manage. They’d have to be careful, and Mycroft would have to write down everything he saw Sherrinford do. He’d have to make sure there was a file. That way, when Sherrinford finally killed them, at least there was something there to offer a defense. Mycroft kept talking. “Sherrinford poisoned us. Every time he makes us dinner, lunch, anything, there’s something in it that makes us sick.”

“He’s just not a good cook, dear. It wasn't intentional.” Their mother protested, shaking her head.

“No. You don’t understand. You’re not listening.” Mycroft hissed, shaking his head. “Look at Will. Look at him. He’s terrified of eating anything that’s not prepackaged. He’s convinced that he’s going to get sick otherwise.”

“He just likes the taste of sweets-”

“He wouldn’t eat that bag of crisps right there,” Mycroft pointed to the table with a fierce jab of his forefinger, “-if his life depended on it. He’s an idiot, but it’s not his fault he’s been traumatized.”

“Honey,”

“You left.” Mycroft shouted, shaking his head. “You left, and you didn’t even call when we were in the hospital!” Their father started at that and he gaped at them both.

“Hospital? When did you go to the hospital-”

“In May!” Mycroft told him, throwing his hands up in despair. “In May! We were there for three days! Will was severely dehydrated and couldn’t keep anything down for almost a week. He spent another week in bed. The minute we got home, Sherry started making food for him and every time he ate it he got sick again. Only he wouldn’t let us go to the hospital another time. He made us stay at home, and he was sick over and over and over, and it’s your fault!” Mycroft hadn’t meant to blame them. He hadn’t. But he could feel his spine tightening in his back and he could feel the rush of emotions he’d long held at bay surge for release. He wanted to cause pain. He wanted to hurt them like they’d been hurt. They’d never understand what it had been like while they were gone. They’d never understand the abject fear Sherrinford caused.

They were idiots. They were complete idiots. For all of her genius in math, their mother couldn’t see what was right in front of her face. She only saw the good in her children, which was blinding her entirely to the truth.

William was still crying against his father’s chest, and now the man was gripping him tight. His embrace wasn’t intended to keep him from escaping this time; now it was geared towards giving strength. Their father held his son like a man desperate for help. He was slower than every other person in the house, but he loved more deeply than all of them. His face was awash with tragedy, and guilt was peeling away the wrinkled flesh of his cheeks. He was distraught. More than that, though: he believed them.

“Willie, tell me the truth. Tell me what’s made you so upset.” The man asked his youngest child, holding him even tighter and lamenting the bony frame that he was crushing against his breast.

“Don’t like that name.” The boy muttered in reply, and the man capitulated with ease.

“William, tell me what’s happened. Tell me the truth.”

“Mike’s scared of Sherry. He’s going to kill us one day, and you don’t care. You always leave and you don’t care he’s the way he is.”

“That’s not true.” Mycroft blinked at his mother’s words. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pressed firmly together. “That’s not true at all.” She pushed herself up off the couch and she marched from the living room with purpose. They could hear her on the stairs, stomping through the house until she reached Sherrinford’s bedroom.

Mycroft glanced between William and their father, and then turned on his heel and chased after her. Their father had finally convinced William to curl into his body for comfort. He was holding him steady, cuddling the boy, and giving him all the love and affection in his heart. It was an easy decision to leave them together, because even though their father was an idiot: William was too. He’d appreciate the sentiment where Mycroft couldn’t fathom it. William would give in and draw comfort from the man, and Mycroft needed to understand his mother’s intentions once and for all.

He chased her down, and found her tearing through Sherrinford’s belongings. He stood in the doorway to his older brother’s room and hesitated. He’d long ago learned never to cross the threshold into Sherrinford’s room. It was a no man’s land that he was not allowed to step foot in. He’d never wanted to either. The idea of disturbing Sherrinford’s things and igniting his brother’s wrath was not intelligent. It was foolhardy.

Their mother clearly had no such compunctions. She threw Sherrinford’s clothes and books in every direction. She scrambled her fingers through his drawers. She upended anything that could hide evidence of the horrible things her child was blamed for. Mycroft felt his fingers twitching at his side. His heart rate increased on instinct; his head swam uncomfortably.

“He’ll be mad. He’s going to be mad. You can’t just do this. He’ll-”

“He’ll what, Mycroft?!” His mother asked, rounding on him. Her hair was standing on end, her breath was coming out in hollow gasps, her arms were shaking. “He’ll what? What will he do to you? What have I missed? What else have I not seen?”

“I-”

“Does he hit you?” Mycroft couldn’t answer in time. She threw herself at him and ripped his shirt up to inspect his chest and back. Nothing was there. “What else does he do? This…food thing…this was new, yes? Was this the first time? Has there been more? Tell me. What has he done?”

“You believe me.” Mycroft stared at her in shock. The words were yanked from him, but he wouldn’t draw them back for anything. His mother looked frenzied and half mad, but her faith in him was not altered. She did believe him. She did.

She whirled around once more, and marched back to Sherrinford’s belongings. Mycroft’s legs gave out and he sagged down onto the floor. He drew his knees to his chest and he gasped in shock. Another quick inhalation followed another, and another, and another. He was hyperventilating and he had no idea how to stop it, but his mother was focused on her task.

Eventually, she found exactly what she was looking for.

There were sketches: dozens of sketches of death and blood and destruction. These sketches weren't simple morbid curiosity that followed any young male. They couldn't be explained away that easily. The sketches contained the kind of obvious gluttony for killing that curled her stomach where she stood. She looked through the pages of Sherrinford’s work, and she saw the face of her baby boy. She saw William’s head with his skull bashed in. She saw him crying as hands reached forwards and strangled him. She saw hands pressing a pillow over the boy’s face in his bedroom, Mycroft lying limp in the bed beside them – already dead. She read his notes and observations on which household products caused vomiting and diarrhea. When that notebook ended, she found another, and another. Each one was filled with the same thing. Each one was more horrifying than the last.

“‘If mummy ever gets pregnant again, I’ll kill her.’” She read the words without emotion. She flipped to the next page. “‘But I’ll kill Willie first. I wonder what she’ll look like when she sees his body?’” The book fell from her fingers. She took a stumbling step backwards, as though to physically distance herself from the depth of her son’s hatred. She looked towards Mycroft and for the first time in his life, he saw his mother cry. She walked towards him with an awkward gait, and then she lowered herself to her knees. Her arms wrapped around him and she pulled him close.

“I didn’t know.” She told him. “I didn’t know.”

“How could you not know?” Mycroft asked her, struggling to regain control over his breathing.

“I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry, my love. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it better. I’ll make this better.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know but I will. I’m your mother. It’s my job to keep you safe. I failed. I failed, and it’s my fault. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll make it better. I will.”

He couldn't quite bring himself to believe her. But that night, when Sherrinford came home, the police were waiting for him. They explained the situation as it stood. He was going to a secure hospital where they’d go over his notebooks and see what they could do to help him change. 

Mycroft doubted anything less than death was going to do anything at all to fix him. Sherrinford admitted to doing everything. He didn’t try to fight it. He didn’t complain. He looked his parents in the eye and asked them for help. He said he couldn’t get the thoughts from his head, and that he just needed a hand to get better. They told him they understood, that they knew he was a good person, and they’d make sure he was given the best care. 

He left the home willingly, giving both his parents a hug as he departed. Mycroft held William in his arms the whole while. Their brother stopped only once to look at them. “Thank you for ensuring I received the help I needed. I’ll never forget this.” William’s arms tightened around Mycroft’s neck. “Goodbye Mikey, Willie.”

Surrounded by police officers, Mycroft couldn’t help but feel more than a little brave. “Go to hell.” He hissed to his older brother. Sherrinford smiled serenely, and left without another word.

The door closed, and silence descended on the house. Mycroft didn’t know how to describe his emotions in that moment. But whatever he felt, he was certain he wasn't relieved. 


End file.
